The scariest word I can think of is cubicle. As in, “I left my suicide note in my cubicle.”

Sure, there are other words that scare me. Republican, for instance. George Bush, of course. (Which isn’t so much a word as it is a national plague.) War. Poverty. Chocolate allergy. (Which, again, isn’t a word, but ohmygod would that be scary.)

Cubicle to me translates as: “small, ugly, windowless, colorless, partitioned-off part of an office in which people work like ants in an ant farm owned by a very mean eight year old where they will ultimately die after many, many years of enduring awful flourescent lighting, an insulting lack of privacy and perpetual illness due to bad air.”

As much as the word cubicle scares me, the thought of actually having to work in such an environment gives me the creeps (and thinking about it so late at night will probably give me bad dreams). I would wither and die if I were forced to work in a cubicle, of that I’m sure. (Please refer back to my use of the word in a sentence for how I would meet my demise.)

Cubicle. Cubicle. Cubicle.Shiver. Stephen King should have used that instead of redrum.

Who, exactly, is this so-called “toy” for? People who work in cubicles? People who spend their days in boxes like these little electronic fellows with misleadingly cheerful names like Handy, Sparky, Dusty and Scoop?* Because, frankly, my first thought when seeing this

terrific

horrific holiday gift was, “Oh, those poor little guys. Someone should let them out of there.” After watching the video of the little guys in action on Think Geek, my next thought was, “Better them than me.”

*All of the Cube People, by the way, seem to have masculine-gendered names, suggesting this is not only a scary toy but also an extremely sexist one. As a woman, I’m not sure if I should be insulted or overjoyed. At least I’m not forced to envision myself as some Cube Person named Pinky, Bitsy or Twinkle. You poor, poor men.